So what if it is my birthday and I am 500 years old? it hardly matters to the me as I stare out of these eyes at the screen. That little me inside of me is the one that shared and inspired all of my adventures and helped me blush and bumble my way into some kind of adulthood is still there. . . winking at me. To him I am the same.
Every now and then he looks out, like right now, and rasps “Happy Birthday you fucking Tosser; you still look good lets have a wank together.”
I, of course, smile benignly and remember that it was him that made me run riot at 14 drunk as a skunk in London giggling as I avoided cops.
I declined his offer of auto eroticism but secretly smile knowing the devilish tosser is still there. . .and up to no good at all.
Only the shell has changed.